Grievous Miscalculations
by travisismycat584
Summary: The drow Jarlaxle and his human companion Artemis Entreri are in the heat of battle and needing to make a quick getaway. Jarlaxle goes against common sense and decides to use a new wand that he doesn't actually know the purpose of, having been assured that it was simply "powerful".
1. Grievous Miscalculations (updated)

Ok, this was done after seeing a writing prompt on here. I originally did this as a one part piece, but was convinced to carry one and do a part two. I have done so abd in doing so, further developed the piece and had to add abd change things in the first part, meaning this chapter. So if you have already read this first chapter I do suggest that you reread it as it has evolved quite a bit.

Something magical goes awry and Artemis Entreri gets turned into a child and Jarlaxle has to care for him...

This is my vision of the prompt. I do not own any of the characters. R.A. Salvatore and Hasbro do. I do my best to simply honor the characters that I have grown up with and love dearly. If you have enjoyed this, please feel free to comment. If you didn't enjoy it, my apologies, I cannot please everyone. Do enjoy.

Grievous Miscalculations. (Version 2.0 - new and improved, no 3D glasses needed.)

What was supposed to be a stealth mission was fast failing. It was a simple 'grab and go and enjoy the spoils' endeavor. Sweet and familiar to an experienced adventurer such as Jarlaxle. But things were not going so sweetly. He glanced at his partner who was busy fending off four towering, seven foot, ugly, scale covered lizard folk, his superior swordsmanship as fine as ever. The charismatic drow thought about shouting out some words of encouragement to him, encouragement to finish them quickly so they could make a hasty exit, but was forced to pay attention to the surprisingly skilled pair of lizard folk fighting in tandem before him. Their hard scales acted as natural protection and all of them carried horribly mismatched weapons and pieces of armor. They weren't the brightest warriors but they made up with sheer muscle and ferocity.

The stone temple walls around them were dark, damp, vines and moss hiding much of the finely carved reliefs. The large, evenly worked paving stones beneath his feet were so slick with condensation from the high humidity that if it weren't for his naturally strong sense of balance and a good bit of luck, he would have found himself much harder pressed far earlier in his fight. He worked his duel swords confidently, picking off the aggressive attempts to get past his defenses, but the natural defenses of his opponents were nothing to laugh at, even if their swordsmanship lacked flare and finesse. Every attack he launched was quickly parried or defected, either by crude ill-suited weapons or their natural ones. They all had long, sharp looking claws and sharp teeth as well as sizable tails that they occasionally used in the battle to try and take their fast fighting opponents down with. Doing his best to keep the two fierce fighters from trying to flank him of either side, Jarlaxle had to keep his nimble feet moving. Amongst the clash of steel blades, the elf's sensitive ears caught the sound of a sharp grunt. He glanced over at the human assassin out to his left side and again found himself marveling at his skills. Skills that were honed to perfection over decades of diligent practice, however were still being sorely pressed. Jarlaxle flicked his eyes back to his own dance and decided that the time had indeed come to make a grand exit. No more stalling.

Jarlaxle suddenly pressed forward ferociously towards the scale covered humanoid on his right side, throwing the fighter and his strange looking pair of bastard swords off balance as he did. With a flick of his wrists, Jarlaxle's swords shrunk down to the size of daggers, which he threw at both his opponents as he launched himself into a sideways roll, aiming to distract the pair as he distanced himself from them. He came up out of the roll to his feet, not with another set of daggers to throw, but two wands. The first one he spoke the trigger word to and a glob of green goo flew out, landing on and entrapping two of his companion's reptilian attackers. In a matter of seconds afterwards, the human easily dispatched the remaining two lizard folk as they became distracted by their struggling allies. The two cold-blooded fighters that Jarlaxle had thrown the daggers at, were quickly coming back in line before the drow, one on his left side and the other on his right. He considered launching a volly of daggers at them, but an idea popped into his head. The second wand in his left hand, a recent acquirement from a previous job, had yet to be tested. He was promised the strange, but eager to please merchant that it was indeed quite powerful. The magical trigger word rolled of his tongue as he pointed the rippled wooden stick at the hideous looking lizard to his left. A bright light arched out of the wand tip and shot out straight out at the unfortunate creature. Jarlaxle didn't take the time to watch the blinding spectacle, trusting in it's effectiveness. Instead he turned his head and launched a dagger off to the right and into the forehead of the smaller lizard that was charging towards him. The dagger sunk deep, but the humanoid's momentum kept it coming at the mercenary, causing him to have to side step few feet to avoid the dying brute crashing into him. Turning back to check out the damage that his new wand had inflicted, he was shocked to see the blueish colored beast dead on the ground with no apparent damage done to it. Further back behind the vile thing however, laid a strange looking sight on the ground. Jarlaxle leaped over the large fallen lizard and went down to his knees before the smoking remains of his human accomplice, or what he thought were his remains.

His eyes opened wide and his heart started racing as fear laced adrenaline replaced what was lingering from the fight. It took his brain a moment to process what his eyes were seeing. Head, arms and legs all appeared to have been eviscerated so completely that there wasn't even any blood left behind. All that remained was the smoking clothing and what appeared to be his limbless torso inside it all. His red bladed sword had been thrown off to the side on the ground. The drow fought against the onset of stinging tears as he stood up and turned back to the dead hulking creature. He kicked at it angrily, lifting it's shoulder off the ground just enough to check. Sure enough, there was the assassin's jeweled dagger, embedded to it's hilt, in the beast's back, right in the spine. He must have thrown it just before Jarlaxle had fired off the spell, the the big lizard person falling dead to the ground and avoiding the magic all together.

Numbness started to set in quickly as the normally fast thinking elf took in a deep breath, one meant to help steady him, yet it did nothing of the sort. A scraping noise and a groan behind him caught his attention. He spun around, dagger already summoned from his magical bracer and ready to fly, only to see not an injured reptile, but a disorentated looking child, about the size of a six or seven year old, getting up off the floor and untangling himself from the garments that rose up with him. The child and the drow locked eyes. Grey eyes, black hair, and even in the dim light of the temple room, Jarlaxle could see tan skin tinged with grey shadow. The elf felt as if his eyes had doubled in size as the puzzle clicked, complete, in his mind.

"Artemis!" His voiced cracked as he flew at the boy and wrapped his arms around the confused assassin, crushing him in a tight hug. "You are alive my abbil! I thought you cruelly taken from me!" Jarlaxle could feel his now much smaller friend attempt to break loose from his hold. He lifted the boy and spun him around once for good measure, so grateful was he inside that he hadn't accidentally destroyed his partner in crime. He sat the human back down on his feet and took a step away to give the normally volatile man, suddenly turned child, some space.

Artemis shot a hard glare at the drow before looking down at himself. The road stained and heat singed gray linen shirt he wore, that once fit him comfortably, hung off of him like an over-sized nightgown, the bottom hem far down past his knees. His breeches were waded up on ground behind him. He lifted his hands up before him and stared at his smooth, small, child-like fingers in alarm. He looked back up at the purple hatted drow, his face an open mix of confusion and slowly growing rage.

"What in the nine hell's did you do Jarlaxle?!" What would have normally been a cold, gravelly voice personifying death itself, came out the almost nasally pitch of a child. Jarlaxle stared at him for a moment.

"I wasn't aiming the spell at you, abbil. It was aimed at that particular lizard creature, which you took out with your dagger at the same time it would seem." The drow tried not to let a grin make its way to his face. The sight of an angry child-like Artemis was far more entertaining than his friend would like it to be, coupled with the sheer relief that washed through him, it was enough to make him and to laugh.

"Then don't just stand there, undo this!" Jarlaxle blinked several times as he watched Entreri go about gathering his clothing and gear off of the ground, frustration evident in every move the assassin made. The drow turned his sight over to where the two lizard folk he had trapped in the goo lay stuck to the temple floor, both still twitching and alive would soon be definitely dead from asphyxiation as the goo had covered most of their heads as well as their upper bodies. 'Fix it?' Jarlaxle didn't even know what it was that the wand really did. How could he fix it? Suddenly a gut feeling told him to turn back around, just as Artemis was reaching down to pick up Charon's Claw.

"Wait! Don't touch that!" Jarlaxle pulled a large handkerchief out of a pocket in his breeches and quickly moved in front of Artemis to pick up the sentient weapon himself.

"It's my sword! I am it's master! What is all this for?" Jarlaxle ignored his companion and wrapped the cloth around the handle, making sure none of his skin touched the dangerous item.

"Forgive me, but it is a simple precaution. You have to body of a child now. Perhaps that would not sit well with Charon's Claw and it would see fit to destroy you. I'd rather not have to worry about your death twice in one day abbil." The drow reached over and snagged the human's weapons belt from the pile beside his friend and carefully sheathed the sword, leaving the cloth wrapped around the handle. He took a step back and swept his large hat from his black bald head, whispering a command word into it's depths and sliding the dangerous item into an magical holding compartment.

"I have the body of a child because of you! Now fix this and return my sword so we can be out of this monster infested cess pit and on our way back to Manapurang!"

Jarlaxle ignored the child's demands and decided to inspect the area where Artemis had fallen to make sure that nothing was left behind. Sure enough, a black sock, damp from the slick floor and rank with sweat, was left behind, as well as Entreri's onyx Nightmare summoning statuette. As he stood back up, the magical trinket in hand and the sock stuffed in a random pocket, he turned to offer the statue back to his pint sized friend, only to see the youth staring intently at the tunnel that they had just come out of prior to their most recent fight. Jarlaxle listened and then caught it. They were being followed. Knowing that they were heading in the right direction and would be free of the intact portion of the jungle temple soon enough, Jarlaxle summoned Entreri's hellish steed and scooped up his friend and his belongings, tossing him up into the saddle as soon as it materialized, pulling himself up over it's back as well.

"We will see about getting you returned to size as soon as we make it out of here alive good friend!" He shouted before spurring the nightmare onwards towards the exit, hunching low protectively over the now miniature assassin. Heartbeats later, two hands full of the strange humanoids emerged from the hallway and into the large room behind them, cursing the fleeing intruders in their strange draconian language.

)()()(

Jarlaxle walked into the sitting area of the flat he shared with the ever deadly Artemis Entreri. He glanced around the room, scanning for his companion, before stepping back out the door to the apartment and bringing in a sack containing several parcels. He stashed the bag of goods behind the floor length curtains covering the lone window in the room and then walked over and tapped on the closed door that opened to his friend's bedroom. No answer. Bravely, the drow reached for the door handle and slowly turned it, gently pushing the door open. It remained unlocked with no traps, just as it had been when he left. Silently, Jarlaxle stepped inside and looked down at his friend, sleeping heavily in his elaborately carved bed, his blanket kicked down around his feet. He looked so endearing, so innocent in his slumber, but something tugged at the mercenary as he stood over the man that had suddenly become a youth. His current form put him at about the size of a five year old human.

A week had passed since the fight in the temple. A week since Artemis Entreri had been given the body of a child. And Jarlaxle was beginning to realize that that wasn't the only issue they were dealing with. Artemis's mind was being affected as well. Why the mind was regressing slower than the body was beyond Jarlaxle's knowledge. His best guess had to do with the human's cognitive strength. But slowly, Artemis was reverting to the mindset of a child, and it was not a peaceful process for the man or the drow.

Jarlaxle had failed to notice any change the first three days as he was busy trying to track down any information that he could about the wand and it's strange effects. He had contacted Kimmeriel first, far away in Menzoberranzan, then set about haunting the seedier underbelly of Manapurang, the jungle city they were calling home whilst adventuring in Kuong, a kingdom in Malatra on the continent of Kara-tur. He found little information, other than the wand was old, very old and had been created a wizard from around the Sword Coast which while familiar to the much traveled drow, was over a full continent away. The creator had been a female wizard by the name of Margo Harpell. Jarlaxle had put Kimmeriel to work trying to summon the spirit of the long dead wizard, however, it seemed that the spirit could not be found.

The drow was drawn from his thoughts as the smallish sleeping form before him turned over, his innocent face scrunching up as if he was afraid of something. Another nightmare was starting so it seemed. Artemis seemed to be plagued by them. Jarlaxle stepped up to the elaborate and heavily cushioned bed. Artemis hated the thing, had thrown the closest thing to a tantrum Jarlaxle had ever seen from the grown man when the elf had hired porters to bring it and it's sister bed to the flat. He allowed his hand to smooth the unruly black hair from his charge's face.

"Fight them my small friend. Don't let them win." With a quiet sigh, he turned around and went back to the sitting room and the hidden sack of packages.

)()()(

Some time later, Artemis woke up in his bed, the sun shining through a crack in the curtain and across his face. He rubbed his fists over his eyes and the stretched his arms out wide. Still wearing one of his adult sized shirts, with a belt around his waist, the youth dropped down to the floor and went over to the chamber pot in the corner to relieve himself before shuffling to his door and starting the lengthy process of undoing the various traps and locks, only to realize that he had never set them the night before. He scratched his head and rather than question why he hadn't stuck to his routine, he accepted it at face value and pushed through the doorway, making his way to the round table in center of the sitting room.

There was food set out on a bamboo tray at the edge of the table, sliced fruits, a clay bowl of sweet curry and some flat bread, and a mug of local small ale. Next to it was a note from Jarlaxle. Artemis went to read it but realized after a moment of staring at the familiar handwriting that he couldn't decipher it. This crushing realization shook him to his core. So aware was he that he had suddenly lost a valuable and important skill that the slowly vanishing adult in him wanted to scream out in denial. He looked around the room in growing panic. It was obvious that the drow was not in, as what point would there be in leaving a note? Artemis looked around the room and saw new clothing draped over one of the wooden chairs. He walked over them, inspecting them with an uncharacteristic shyness and sure enough, they were child sized, for him. Two long, short sleeved tunics and two pairs of wide legged trousers of the local style, in an intense dark blue. They were not to his tastes, but the color wasn't horrible. There was also a halfling sized sword and dagger, both sheathed onto a weapons belt whose leather was dyed red and tooled with the same exotic motifs as were the sheaths. Of course Jarlaxle would choose something like that. He grabbed the garments up in his short arms and again looked around the room, paying close attention to the still curtains, not wanting to be seen vulnerable and undressed.

There was not a sound, nor any movement. Still dealing with the lingering wave of uncomfortably growing fear, Artemis took his armful of clothing and his new weapons and dashed back into his room, this time, doing what he could to lock his door securely behind him.

Once the room as secure, his breathing was fast and his heart was still racing. Everything suddenly seemed too overwhelming. He stood by his bed and looked at the clothes. They looked just like those that adults in the region wore. He thought of the many times he would randomly watch children in the streets, picking out the various gangs. For some reason, this made him feel heavy and sad. His eyes were beginning to tear up. Artemis suddenly fought back against the strange feelings with a growl of anger and started the process of shedding his over-sized gray linen shirt for the new dark blue tunic.

Artemis had just finished tightening his weapons belt over his new breeches, his tunic tucked into them instead of hanging over, when he heard someone enter the flat. He ran quietly to the door and listened with his ear pressed against the wood. The intruder was whistling a familiar bawdy tune and boot heels clicked hard on the wooden floor. Artemis's eyes grew wide and he scrambled to undo the few locks he had been able to reset. Jarlaxle was back! Why that mattered so much to him, he didn't stop to think about. He was simply happy not to be alone with his disturbing thoughts and feelings anymore.

Jarlaxle spun about when he heard the locks on his companion's door being undone. He opened his mouth to call out a greeting whilst unbuttoning his shirt but was instead shocked into silence as his young friend came running towards him at top speed, calling out his name and plowing into him. Small arms wrapped around the surprised drow in a tight hug.

"Where did you?! I missed you! Please don't leave me alone again!" Jarlaxle took note of the last two comments first, but chose to address the first question, finding it the less disturbing of the three.

"Abbil, I left you a note on the table by your meal, surely you saw it." Jarlaxle locked eyes with the assassin as he looked up at him, his gray eyes, round and strangely expressive, clouding with fear.

"I couldn't understand it. I couldn't… none of it made any sense." Those words, and the implications behind them hit the drow like a punch to the gut. He placed his hands on the youth's shoulders to try and comfort him, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. "What if I forget more? What if I grow smaller, like a baby?! What if I die?! Jarlaxle! You said you would fix this?!" Artemis stood there, hugging Jarlaxle as if his life depended on it, tears rolling unchecked down his cheeks as he pressed his face into the elf's thin torso. "You said you could fix it!"

)()()(

Jarlaxle sighed aloud as he lay awake in his elaborately craved bed, the small, curled up, sleeping form of his companion beside him. For almost an hour, the young Artemis had cried and carried on, inconsolable it seemed and what about, he wasn't even sure. Weeks had gone by and Jarlaxle couldn't get much headway made in finding a cure to their situation. Some minor information was indeed found, but not much. He tried several spells to stop the reversed aging. He tried potions, salves, anything he could possibly find or think of. Nothing seemed to help, but constant reminders of who he used to be, and that only helped for so long. Now the human that Jarlaxle had dragged into his inner sanctum, the gifted warrior and surprisingly loyal comrade, was reduced to the mind and body of a toddler.

He looked out in the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes able to see as clear as day, the toys the drow had collected for his friend in hopes that they would offer him comfort and distraction. A stick horse and a rudimentary carved wooden boat lay out in the middle of the floor. By the window, sat a trio of finely carved and enameled dragons, a red, a copper and a blue. There was even a rag doll, with a plain forest green dress on. Jarlaxle had caught Artemis pretending to rescue the doll from the dragons, complete with pretend sword, earlier in the day. His heart was at complete odds as he took in that moment. He found it intriguing to watch a child, unhindered by adults, at play, but also mourned the systematic loss of the fierce warrior that he used to be.

He worried about his partner and had several times during the increasingly intense crying fits considered just removing himself from the situation completely, dropping the child off at some temple or church and returning to Menzobarranzan. But guilt ate away at him each time he thought of abandoning the helpless assassin. Jarlaxle wasn't really the parenting type and he was one of the last to know what human children needed. The toys he bought partly out of desperation, to help redirect the bouts of curiosity based destruction his pint sized pal unleashed on their flat when left alone for even a minute. It seemed that no matter where Jarlaxle hid the more dangerous items kept in their flat, the small and determined explorer always seemed to find them. However, another part of him simply enjoyed seeing the excited look on his friend's face when he was given the trinkets for the first time. His friend's joy was too innocent and too pure to ignore.

Jarlaxle tried to be understanding with the small terrorist that had replaced his often pessimistic cohort. He tried to play the role of a loving uncle the best he could. However he knew that if he didn't find the cure soon, he would lose his dearest friend altogether. And that thought, as much as he tried to ignore it, tore at him the most. His eyes flicked over to the three dragons by the window and suddenly an idea clicked to life in his head.

The dragon sisters Ilnezhara and Tazmikella. Those two would be able to help if anyone could. Yet they resided on a completely different continent. Jarlaxle sighed as the wheels in his head started turning. Even with the aid of magic, the journey would be a long and trying one with his tiny charge coming along for the ride. He thought about possibly leaving him with a nursemaid for a brief second, but then looked down at the sleeping would-be knight, hearing his calls for 'Jaxle' when he was frightened or hungry. No. He would have to take him with. For the first time since he had spied the tottering Artemis bravely fending off the evil dragons to save the ragdoll maiden, a genuine smile came to his face, one laced with hope. Even if the wise draconian sisters, both purveyors of magical items, couldn't help the drow with this particular endeavor, he would give his friend one last big adventure before what he feared would be the end. He carefully removed himself from the bed and silently left his bedroom to go sit at the writing desk in the living areas. It was time to make plans.

)()()(

Ok, so I totally wrote this as a one and done bit with the idea of possibly doing a second part. And I did manage to get some requests for a second part. So, after a stupid amount of research, I wrote a part two. Posting it on here as a second chapter. I hope you enjoy it.


	2. Grievous Miscalculations Part 2

Ok my peeps, the second part, as requested. Took me a bit, but I feel that is worthy enough. Again, I don't own any of these characters. Salvatore and Hasbro do. Enjoy and do please leave a comment. I thrive on them.

Jarlaxle peered hard out at the distant horizon ahead of him. The sun shown brightly in the cloudless sky past it's zenith and slowly starting to sink towards the west. Precisely the direction the drow needed to go. Heliogabalus. A grin crossed his dark skinned features as the memories of his previous adventures in the Blood-stone lands crossed his mind. When Artemis and he had made their dramatic exit the last time, it was been on pain of death. Neither of them were ever to return again. As a male dark elf in the strictly matriarchal society of drow, he was used to being barred from many things in life. And he chose to make the same decision this time as he did many other times, to ignore it. He looked down at the small child, strapped to his chest with a leather harness and nestled safe in a swaddling blanket. Grey eyes were shut tight and a thumb stuck firmly in a tiny pursed mouth. Jarlaxle touched a finger to to the soft curls, like black silk, that covered the top of the babe's head and then looked back up at the horizon. He kicked his heels and urged his flaming hellish steed onward into a tireless gallop.

As the sun fell further in the sky towards the land, the air grew cooler over the badlands. Autumn was approaching. Soon, he knew the Ice-lace River would appear appear to his right, easily leading him to his destination. He hoped that he would arrive in time. Long after the sun had set, Jarlaxle dismissed the nightmare back to its home plane. With a now awake and fussing baby Artemis freed from his harness and cradled safely in one arm, Jarlaxle fished a small item from a pouch on his belt and crouched down to set it on the dry and dusty ground. Softly he spoke the trigger word as he stepped back, allowing what appeared as a miniature tent to enlarge to full size. Shifting his tiny friend into the crook of his other arm, he whispered soothing sounds and gently started a bouncing motion before entering their shelter for the evening.

Inside the tent everything was, in traditional Jarlaxle style, lavish and comfortably furnished. There were two large beds, both frames elaborately craved from exotic hardwoods and expertly lacquered to shine. Each had a thick, comfortable feather mattress. Jarlaxle had purchased them shortly after they had come to their first large city in the continent of Kara-tur. Reliefs of unfamiliar deities helped form the corner posts, their exquisitely formed hands grasping giant orbs of golden amber at the top of each post. The headboards and baseboards held more reliefs of phallus's and human couples caught in various acts of lovemaking. Artemis had absolutely hated them. He argued that the gaudy and dramatic show of wealth would bring them unwanted attention in a hostile environment that already shown ample evidence of despising foreigners such as themselves. The grouchy assassin didn't, however, shun the comfort of the mattress that accompanied his new bed and it time ceased his complaining.

Thick rugs with bright colors and intricate geometric designs covered the floors. Again, something that the abnormally un-materialistic man scoffed at. It wasn't until their current adventure that the assassin had truely come to appreciate them. Trying to pick the colorful shapes themselves off of the rug had entertained a crawling Artemis for many days. A pair of rather plain wooden chairs surrounded an equally plain round wooden table, on which sat a silver ewer of water and basin for washing.

The newest addition to the tent however was something rather odd indeed, even for the eccentric mercenary. And he was sure that the old Artemis would have approved as it cost him not a single copper to acquire. It was a basket, woven not from reeds or mushroom stalk as Jarlaxle was more familiar with, but of some grizzly sort of rawhide. He had seen it while quickly paying a visit to his older brother, Gromph, back in the darkness of Menzobarranzan and smuggled it back to the surface with him. It was a perfect bassinet.

Jarlaxle continued to bounce the tiny human as he made his way the basket where it sat on top a squat looking chabudai, another purchase from the far off land they had traveled to. Gently he placed the babe inside it and un-swaddled him. Inside the swaddling blanket, it was evident that the child had wet himself and defecated as well. Jarlaxle ignored the smell and sighed, leaning over towards the round table with the ewer and basin. He grabbed both and sat them on the chabudai. Artemis squirmed and let out a louder cry, his arms flying out above him uncontrollably.

"I know my abbil, it can't be comfortable in the least bit. I'm sure that once you are back to your old self, you will have your fine dagger aimed at my heart yet again. Just remember, this is a task that neither of us enjoys. Do be thankful I do this for you." The drow kept up a steady stream of one sided banter, explaining to Artemis again what the plan was to be once they reached Heliogabalus. They wouldn't risk entering the city itself. It was dangerous enough, returning to the Bloodstone lands so soon after their near disastrous last visit. For Jarlaxle to enter the city while carrying a human infant would surely draw much unwanted attention.

Soon enough the child was clean. A rash had formed during the day on his rear and inner thighs due to the long ride in the soiled blanket. Jarlaxle gently touched the reddened area with a clean finger and cringed at the heat coming off the angry flesh. He remembered a crone telling him to apply lard to swaddling rashes. She had been brought to their rented room to investigate the child at the tavern they had stopped at when he had arrived in Almorel. Almorel was the first settlement they had come to along what was known as the Golden Way trail, leading from Kara-tur into Faerun. Jarlaxle had grown increasingly alarmed by his lack of knowledge when it came to his friend's changing needs. He had used a magical mask to form a disguise, appearing as a human father who had recently lost his wife and was traveling alone with his very young child. Lard would help heal it. Leaving Entreri safe in his basket, he stood up out of his chair and walked around to the bed that had been his companion's prior to the entire reverse aging issue with the wand in that dilapidated jungle temple in Malatra. The bed had become a catch all for things collected along the way as their journey progressed. He picked up a tin containing the needed lard and an enchanted water skin filled with goat's milk. Whatever liquid that was put in it would be kept at the proper temperature and plentiful. It was a temporary and pricey enchantment, but price had not been an issue if it meant his friend would be able to eat.

The entire time he went about what had become routine, his mind raced. He still held hope that Ilnezhara and Tazmikella could be of assistance. As he went about swaddling and carefully hand feeding his companion, he was unusually quiet. The weeks had taken a toll on him. What had started out as a reasonably upbeat adventure for his small friend, had become a living hell for them both. Artemis had continued to lose more of himself. Loss of control over his bowels happened about the same time Jarlaxle thought it safer to strap the shrinking toddler to his chest. The crying tore at Jarlaxle's normally resilient spirit. It was a constant reminder that the whole situation was his own doing.

Once Artemis was asleep, Jarlaxle slumped onto his bed and slipped into his reverie, praying to any deity that may listen that he could find help for his friend.

Something triggered Jarlaxle's brain and he shot up off his bed, his wide eyes hurriedly scanning most of the tent, only to that something was horribly wrong. Ignoring the minor aches in his body, he approached the basket to find it empty. It was then that the suddenly panicked drow turned towards the entrance of the tent to see Ilbezhara, previously unnoticed and standing there in her human form, her curves sensual and exotic with long, wavy copper colored tresses and bright blue eyes. She looked as beautiful as he remembered, but what he truly noticed was the baby Entreri cuddled in her arms, cooing quietly with his tiny fists waving at a lock of her hair hanging near his face.

"You never cease to surprise me Jarlaxle. How can drow such as you be so alert and yet manage to completely ignore the cries of an infant resting mere feet away from you? Yet that in itself also begs a different question. Why do you have an infant with you?" Her blue eyes ever left Jarlaxle's red as she spoke. Little Entreri was still engrossed in his efforts to touch the gentle red waves hanging beside him, just out of reach. Jarlaxle felt off balance and at a loss as many questions came rolling into his mind all at once. He realized that they didn't matter. She was here. That she found him and not the other way around was inconsequential.

"A grievous miscalculation was made with a wand that I had newly acquired… please say you will try to help me fix this, oh beautiful lady." Ilnezhara took a long look at the drow that had been such an enjoyable lover. He looked surprisingly hagard and unkept. There was no calculation in his voice, no acting. His posture, tone and look all conveyed something very un-Jarlaxle like… helplessness. Jarlaxle was vulnerable, his inner feelings worn out on the surface her to plainly see. This strange realization secretly shook the normally unshakable Ilnezhara.

"The child-"

"Is my companion, what is left of the human that is Artemis Entreri." At that remark, the copper dragon in desquise looked down at the tiny babe in her arms. Feather wisps of black curls covered his head and as the two beings locked eyes for a moment, steel grey orbs seemed to focus on shocking blue. For an instant, it seemed as if those eyes had indeed the spark of intelligence that was the adult Entreri. She glanced back up at Jarlaxle, her tone grim.

"A wand, you said?" Jarlaxle walked over to where his gear was sitting beside his bed.

"Don't bother showing me here. Meet my sister and I at my home. Bring the wand and the child. We shall see what we can discover." She approached Jarlaxle and with such care, handed over the small, loosely wrapped bundle. Artemis began to fuss a little and automatically Jarlaxle started bouncing and humming to him, missing Ilnezhara's silent exit from the tent.

"Shhh shh my abbil. We will get you help in no time." After a brief check and adjustment of his friend's swaddling clothes, Jarlaxle strapped the infant to his chest and away towards the outskirts of Heliogabalus they rode, their nightmare steed running hard at full gallop.

Inside the small, but stylish home of Lady Z, Ilnezhara's human alias, Jarlaxle sat hunched over in a red stained wooden chair, detailing all that had happened and all he had learned in his search for a cure to this strange and horrible malady. While he poured over every detail, Ilnezhara listened, her sharp mind taking in the information. Her sister, Tazmikella, paced the visiting area quietly, also listening while a sleeping Artemis lay cradled in her arms. Had Jarlaxle bothered to look up at her as she made her unhurried laps around the room, he would have perhaps noticed how perfectly she fit the image of a doting grandmother with her gray hair and the motherly expression plastered to her softly wrinkled face. But he didn't.

"So the wand was created by and once belonged to a female wizard in Long Saddle. That is near the Sword Coast, north of Baldur's Gate. The Harpells still run strong there to this day if my memory is correct. Have you not simply thought to contact them and inquire about their knowledge of the wand or it's previous owner?"

"I was just about to get to that, and yes I have sent scouts there and inquired more than a few times. None of the wizards that were questioned could recall a wand made by her or even having an ancestor with that name. None have ever heard of a Margo, nor have they found word of her or a wand of such capabilities in any of their vast libraries of family historical documents." Jarlaxle swept his hat from his head, no flourish involved.

"And you say that you have also attempted to reach the spirit of this Margo Harpell?" Holding onto the wide purple brim, Jarlaxle was growing exasperated at having to repeat himself so many times. He used the fabric of the familiar hat to help ground his mind, knowing that there was a valid reason for all the repetition.

"Five times I have searched fruitlessly for Margo Harpell in the lands of the dead, only to come up empty each time."

"Then perhaps she is among the living."

"The wand is several centuries old, as the creator of the wand, Margo must surely be gone from this life." Jarlaxle's ears caught the sound of his small friend starting to fuss in Tazmikella's arms.

"Unless she is elven, dwarven, a lich, a vampire or even a dragon…" Ilnezhara's remark fell on deaf ears. Jarlaxle's attention lay on the increasingly vocal infant. Tazmikella bounced and cooed at the child, but it was proving to be ineffective.

"He is growing hungry." Jarlaxle fought the almost violent urge to take the wailing bundle from the woman as he spoke, suddenly surprised by how protective he was feeling. It was his fault he knew. In his hurry to get to the dragon sisters after the visit from Ilnezhara, he had neglected to feed the babe beforehand. He felt a moderate stab of guilt as Artemis's cries grew louder seemingly by the second.

"If Master Artemis is hungry, then we will have to feed him, won't we?" chirped Tazmikella, her voice thrown high and a silly smile spread across her face, trying to distract the poor child. To Jarlaxle's amazement, Tazmikella shifted the low collar of her plain cotton gown to reveal her breast. Tenderly she arranged the infant infront of it and chuckled happily as the babe ceased his crying and latched on eagerly. Ilnezhara cleared her throat loudly to get the shocked drow's attention back to the conversation. Truly it was completely unexpected.

"I was able to fill her in on your predicament before you arrived so she could act accordingly. There are spells out there, for those who know, that enable one who can, to produce milk. But for now let us get back to the matter at hand Jarlaxle. Let me see the wand responsible for all this."

Two days passed. Jarlaxle and Ilnezhara put their collective minds together trying to reverse the spell while Tazmikella acted happily as nanny and wet nurse to the helpless Entreri, throwing her own two coppers worth when it seemed appropriate. Evening of the third day came.

"The babe is growing smaller, sister, despite his lusty appetite." Tazmikella whispered to Ilnezhara as they both stood watch over the sleeping Jarlaxle, the white swaddled bundle that was Artemis tucked into his arm, as the drow slept comfortably up right in the over stuffed chair he had taken as his own.

"I can see that as well." Ilnezhara's low voice echoed the concern heard in her sister's higher tones. "It won't be much longer till the end at this rate."

"Do you think we can stop it?" Ilnezhara turned to her twin sister and shook her head grimly.

"Possibly, if we had more time, but as it is, no. Jarlaxle will watch he who was the impressive and dare say even legendary fighter, Artemis Entreri, take his last breath and grow forever still." Tazmikella put a hand to her breast and frowned, a movement that wasn't lost on her sister. There was legitimate sadness in her movements. "You've grown rather fond of mothering, haven't you dear sister?" Tazmikella didn't bother to answer. The two simply watched the strange pair before then. Both knew that death was the inevitable ending of this strange tale, as is usually the way with life.

The next morning, Ilnezhara left her home, walking into the city to open her shop. With a heavy heart, Tazmikella did so as well, leaving after failing to rouse the sleeping child from his slumber. She didn't bother waking Jarlaxle when she came to feed Entreri, but he was aware of her efforts and appreciated them.

Jarlaxle sat in the blue heavily padded chair there in Ilnezhara's den, his purple hat hanging off the back of it. In his arms slept his dear friend, so tiny, so frail. Moisture rimmed his tired eyes as he took in every detail of the infant's face. How translucent his skin appeared. Jarlaxle could see the fine network of blood vessels underneath the top layer of skin. He could count each tiny eyelash and studying the tiny rosebud of a mouth only caused his shoulders to tighten and his breathing to catch in his chest. Such minute wrinkles those lips had. Those same lips that refused to latch on to the breast that had been offered to them earlier just before dawn. He didn't want to think about how infrequent his helpless companion had been awake since noon the previous day. Jarlaxle carefully removed the loose swaddling and stared. Artemis's small body looked so perfect with the five rounded toes on each foot, the ten delicate looking fingers all curled up into two tiny fists. Again he could see the framework of blood vessels. Also visible were the remnants of scars, so many scars. The Artemis he knew was highly self-conscious about them.

One night after drinking far too much, the two of them had almost laid with each other. Jarlaxle remembered that night well, not because of the acts they had come close to doing, but because of the genuine intimacy they did share in it's stead. The drunken and ultimately exhausted human had lost his nerve as Jarlaxle was unlacing and removing his linen shirt for him. The scars were all over his chest and back, some even laying over his shoulders. Jarlaxle thought they were beautiful and even voiced his admiration of them. Artemis, however, couldn't be lead to believe his words. Instead, he shrunk into himself and pulled away, shaking, breathing erratically and withdrawing into whatever obvious hell lay inside his mind. Jarlaxle didn't know at the time why his friend acted in such a way, but knew that that was not to time to press matters further.

He had done the best he could to calm and comfort the upset assassin, patiently encouraging he to share his fears and helped him to redress. It was the only time that Artemis had ever been in such a sad and vulnerable state around the mercenary. The drow never knew how much the human remembered of that long ago night. The next day the hungover Entreri acted as if nothing had happened.

Looking at those faint white lines, Jarlaxle realized that he would never know the full story behind them. He would never again meet the cold glare of those gray eyes or hear his friend's remarks dripping with pessimistic sarcasm. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Trying ever so ardently to hold back what he knew would be a flood of tears he would be unable to stop, he closed his eyes tight and leaned his head back against the chair in an attempt to regain his composure. Little Artemis shifted sleepily in the drow's lap, causing Jarlaxle to open his tired orbs yet again. He re-wrapped the assassin in the swaddling blanket and held him close. There was so much he wished to could say to his beloved comrade.

"I am beyond the realms of sorry that I have failed you my most dearest abbil. I care for you more than I should and have cherished our time together more than any other in my long and sometimes weary life." He took a deep steadying breath and sniffled a moment before he felt he could continue. "I have buried many an ally and friend throughout the centuries, but never had it been due to my own carelessness. I have always had a certain measure of luck, but in this instance, I fear it has run dry. I hope you are able to find what peace you may, for surely no deity is worthy of such a being as you, good friend." Finally, unable to hold back anymore, Jarlaxle allowed his silent tears to fall.

Evening had come again. Ilnezhara entered her home to find it dark, not a single candle lit. In the dimness, she made out the darker form of her former lover seated in the stuffed blue chair, his head hanging down against his chest, eyes seemingly shut. In his arms the bundled body of the babe lay. She approached and looked closely. The babe was completely still, it's skin tinted strangely in the dark. The assassin had passed on to the next realm. She considered waking the apparently sleeping drow, but chose instead to leave him to his needed slumber. She walked passed him to the staircase that led up to her private rooms. Barely had she set a quiet foot on the first step when she heard someone clearing their throat.

"He's gone now." Jarlaxle's normally warm, mellow tones came out flat and his voice cracked at the end, almost as painfully as a whip. The dragon turned her human form back towards the chair and the rest of the furniture and stared at the outline of the foppish purple hat hanging off the corner of his seat.

"I know." She paused, trying to think of something more comforting to say, however it was he who spoke first.

"I failed him." Again the flat, defeated tones were uncomfortable to hear coming from him. The great wyrm walked back to sit in the chair across from the drow, the red stained wooden one that he had been crouched over in, eagerly and frantically racking his brains for any information he may have overlooked just those couple days before. The room itself began to feel cold and uncomfortable.

"Would you like assistance with burying him?" Jarlaxle looked up at her, her blue eyes watching him. His sensitive eyes saw her features as easily as if they were standing under open, sunny skies. His own gaze was clear and dry of tears. The question wasn't entirely out of place, but the offer of help was unexpected. The idea of the sensual and stylish Lady Zee wielding a shovel and wading in dirt for any kind of situation was a strange one. He looked down at the still cooling body bundled up in his lap, the small, flawless face frozen in mask of perfect peace.

"I sincerely appreciate the kind offer my lady, but there is not to be a burial." His mouth moved fluidly, his words smooth despite the turmoil behind them. He looked back up, locking eyes with Ilnezhara. There was a glimmer of a brief smile in them. "After our time dealing with the Witch King on your behalf, Artemis had made a comment about wanting his body to be burned so that his bones could never rise again and be used so disgracefully by any necromancer who happened to stumble by. While he never professed any spiritual allegiance to any certain deity, I feel that this one request should be honored and therefore I shall fulfill it for him." The two sat in silence for several moment, both thinking back to that time when the sisters had hired the two mercenaries.

"It will take a hot fire indeed to render even his small, fragile bones to fine ash." The drow nodded his head absently in agreement and again looked down at the lifeless shell of the human that he had become so close with. "Let my sister and I help you with that." He lifted his gaze up to the patiently waiting female and nodded his head.

"When would you like to-" Jarlaxle cut his former lover off with a single word, his gaze again falling to the dead child.

"Sunrise."

Jarlaxle looked at the completed timber pyre, the wood, fetched from the far off hills by Tazmikella in her dragon form, stacked just so, to encourage a thorough burn. His friend's body lay up on top of it, wrapped with upmost care in fine white linen. How minuscule the bundle looked, cocoon-like upon it, the Surrounding him were his belongings that Jarlaxle had acquired for him over the last several weeks. Each of the fine, child sized garments carefully folded, each carved wooden toy, arranged just so, and the halfling sized sword and dagger with their gracefully tooled sheaths and belt. At the bottom their of the wooden structure lay the few items from Artemis's adult life. His clothing and travel pack, all well worn yet meticulously mended over the many years, and his boots. New boots, that Jarlaxle had bought him, of the Eastern style in leather that was a striking, deep blood red color. Boots enchanted with levitation abilities and that hadn't quite been broken in yet. Jarlaxle thought at first to include his fine weapons as well, memento's , along with the three finely enameled toy dragons Artemis had enjoyed playing with so much in his child state.

The mercenary looked up at the horizon. The sun would soon crest over the hills, pouring it's light over the vast dusty plains. He glanced at the two dragon sisters, both in their human disguises, wearing shrouds of black, signs of mourning. The two had once been their employers, both as sharp, fearsome and cunning as any Matron Jarlaxle had ever dealt with, only with the added advantage of being able to easily destroy either of the two sell swords with a single bite of their powerful jaws when in their true forms.

A horrible thought occurred to him as the three of them stood there waiting for the sun to illuminate the dark land. He was alone now. It was an unpleasant thought that didn't bode well at all with the pragmatic adventurer. The notion of returning to the Underdark and back to the helm of Began De'Arthe full time was not a welcome one. There was another option however. A strange, black haired and heavily scarred dwarf who wielded an enchanted set of twin glass steel morning stars. Surely the boisterous and hard drinking mercenary was still nearby, haunting the taverns of Heliogabalus and drinking his insatiable fill. The drow was positive that he could tempt the curious but undeniably talented warrior into traveling with him. The creature was no Artemis Entreri, but would offer an intriguing brand of companionship of his own and plenty of entertainment to be sure. Jarlaxle suddenly caught a hold of his train of thought and silently berated himself. He had to finish this last task, collect himself and only then could he plot his next move.

As the first rays of sunlight crested the eastern sky, the three solemn figures all summoned magical streams of fire, aimed at the pyre. Hastened by the force of the flames, the dry wood and oil soaked wool woven within the inner structure would catch and burn soon enough. The flames kept coming, building, higher and higher, and hot enough so as to cause the trio of silent casters to feel it's intensity from where they stood, safely out of the blaze's reach . For several long seconds, the three held their focus, their spells combining, causing the very tips of the flames to reach higher than a hill giant and burn seemingly brighter than a dwarven forge.

Finally, one by one, the three ceased their actions. In silence they stood, observing the burning funeral pyre for many long minutes. All three were lost in their own private thoughts. None noticed the strange lack of acrid stench that normally accompanied the burning of human flesh. It wasn't until the height of the flames had died down some, the sun now fully risen over the far off hills and into the unobstructed sky, that something seemed off. Ilnezhara had turned her back to the popping and crackling of the fire, preparing to make her transformation and fly back towards her home, some miles away. Tazmikella glanced over at Jarlaxle, still staring off into the fire, his eyes, adapted for the light-less depths of the Underdark, surely burned at the intensity of the staggering contrast that was the flames. She was about to join her sister when she heard a most peculiar sound amongst the whooshing flames and crackling of the wood. It sounded like an infant's gurgle. She froze and looked back at the fire.

Jarlaxle at first thought that he had imagined the sound. That his mind was playing tricks on him, the guilt he felt trying to eat at him even more now that the deed of cremating was being done. Then he caught it again. His sensitive ears strained, trying to better determine what it was he heard. Finally the start of a hearty cry could be heard clearly by all three witnesses, Ilnezhara turning around sharply in mid step her eyes wide open in horror and disbelief. Without thinking, Jarlaxle sprang towards the fire and entered the biting flames. Knowing that the many enchanted items he wore should protect him enough to avoid death, the mercenary scooped up a very much alive Atemis Entreri out of the inferno, not a moment too soon before the top tier of the wooden pyre he laid on collapsed. The drow clutched the naked child to him and threw himself back out away from the blaze, rolling along the ground to extinguish any possible flickers or embers that may have clung to him. Tazmikella and Ilnezhara both ran to him, helping him to his feet. The three adults looked down at the now loudly screaming infant pressed tight to Jarlaxle's chest. All were in indescribable awe.

"He's alive!" Murmured Ilnezhara, still somewhat horrified. Tazmikella could barely restrain her astonishment.

"And there's no burns! Not so much as a blister!"

Jarlaxle said nothing. He felt as if his heart and head were going to explode. He didn't hear the excited chatter of the sisters despite them clinging to him, each trying to get a better look. Those soft black curls on his amazingly unmarred head... Artemis was alive again!

"Like a phoenix!" Exclaimed Tazmikella. "He died, but then was reborn from the ashes of his old body. And look, he lacks a belly button!" Jarlaxle furrowed his brow as the theory, and odd observation sunk in. He started bouncing the wailing Entreri and took a closer look at the infant's skin. He found no trace of burns, no trace of blisters, and no trace of the old scars. Once he took it in, that realization caused the elf to let out a great long, high pitched shout of excitement, like those often heard in battle in the Calimshan region that the assassin was from. Every ounce of relief, astonishment and joy was evident in his call. Tears started to spill down his cheeks unchecked as he smiled from ear to ear. The two dragon sisters shared in his pleasure, both abandoning any caution, changed into their draconic forms flew and frolicked around the still burning pyre and the ecstatic dark elf as if they were young wyrmlings once more.

Two ten-days later, Jarlaxle sat astride his hellish nightmare, a sleeping infant Entreri curled in a sling against his chest. He whistled a bawdy tune and occasionally looked down over at the curious black bearded dwarf atop his new hell boar riding beside him. Out of the blue, his dwarven companion gave a characteristic "Bwahaha!" Jarlaxle grinned and gave a chuckle himself.

"What amuses you so my friend?" The battle scarred Athrogate glanced up at the drow, his twin morning stars bouncing gently against his back with the movement of his mount, a smile peaking out of the braided facial hair.

"The two ladies said, get big, he's gonna. Does that mean he's to grow up calling ye Momma?" Jarlaxle grinned, his amusement at there dwarf's habit of rhyming as of yet still intact.

"Athrogate, I would refrain from saying saying anything of that sort. I have a feeling that our beloved Artemis will be back to his usual surly self soon enough. I'd wager on fact that he will be back to being lethal before the month is out." The dwarf frowned for a moment at this, then pictured a toddling baby Artemis attempting to stab him with one of Jarlaxle's throwing daggers, his mobility limited to whatever furniture would be nearby. He grinned again and gave a hearty "Bywahaha!" The old dwarf had seem many strange things in his abnormally long life, but this was to be one of the strangest. He found himself grateful that he wasn't Jarlaxle, because if Entreri did indeed remember everything that had gone on, as the sisters predicted, the elf had better watch himself. And there was no way Athrogate was going to step into that fight.

Alright, I hope you enjoyed it. As I requested beforehand, drop me a note and tell me how you liked it.

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